


Serendipi- what, now?

by LostInTranslation (theonemaye)



Series: [Permanent Hiatus] [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coincidences, Fate, First Meetings, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Misunderstandings, Prompt Fic, Shance Month 2018, Shiro (Voltron) is dreamy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-02-27 07:16:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13243227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonemaye/pseuds/LostInTranslation
Summary: Several things need to happen for two people to find each other. Supernovas exploding, cosmic dust floating in some specific direction, and plenty of little puzzle pieces clicking in just the right way for Person A and Person B to meet in a certain point of time and space. With that in mind, one would think Lance and Shiro would have an easier time finding each other again after their first rendezvous… But the universe is rarely that straightforward.Update Nov. 2018:Please read the series description.





	1. Lucky/Unlucky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nevermoree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevermoree/gifts).



> _to Nevermoree… for no particular reason ;)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1: Introductions

This wasn’t supposed to be how Lance met a man like Shiro.

It was January the 1st and he was already having the worst day of his whole year. He got kicked out his apartment due to certain _disagreements_ between his landlord and him - see: two months of back rent - with no right to retrieve his things unless he got enough cash to settle the debt. He also got sacked from his job due to “staff cuts” - see: he screwed the boss’s daughter after the office’s Christmas party and never called her back. And out of the only three people he could ask for help, two weren’t home for the holidays and one was in freaking Korea visiting relatives.

It wasn’t as if Lance had no money whatsoever - or was keen to be a hobo for that matter. As much as his friends claimed he wasn’t a proper adult, Lance always found a way to pay his bills on time. Or he used to before his shitty ex-boyfriend got him caught up in some shady investment scam then disappeared.

The jerk let Lance near bankrupt, taking away the only economic buffer he had for when any particularly bad stuff was to happen. As particularly bad as being kicked out his home with nowhere to go and not even a clean pair of boxer briefs to wear.

Ever since he got home from work only to find out the landlord had changed his passcode, Lance took himself to one of the few warm places he knew it’d be open on a holiday. A rather sterile franchise coffee shop that, much to his relief, didn’t pay lots of attention to the Gregorian calendar.

He was sitting at the farthest table, phone in one hand and a cup of the cheapest coffee in the other, not really all that interested in caffeinating himself but also a bit embarrassed of just sitting there all afternoon. One by one he called his acquaintances to ask for a place to crash that night. One by one he got all the possible variations of “sorry, but no”. One by one he crossed people out of his mental list, marking them under the “people I’m most definitely not talking to ever again” section.

What’s the point in having so many Facebook friends if not even one of them could give him a place to stay for the night? All those coworkers naming him “the real MVP”,  all those Friday night _friends_ Lance had to stop seeing after Lotor took every single penny out of his pocket and fled to the Caribbean. Perhaps Keith was right and Lance wasn’t as popular as he thought he was.

Be as it may, Lance wasn’t all alone in the big city. He had his best friends from college to bring him back to earth; the three people in the whole world that cared about him almost as much as his own mother, who probably was sound asleep back in Lance’s small hometown. The ones that sadly weren’t around to ease his predicament.

Hunk texted “Mi casa es tu casa” as soon as Lance broke the news via group chat. Something similar happened when Pidge read his sad tale, and even though Keith hadn’t read it yet - probably for the time difference, Lance knew the man’s response wouldn’t be any different. There was a tiny problem, however: Neither of them would be back from their respective trips in at least another three days, which presented a bit of a problem in itself.

His two friends asked whether he had a place to stay until then and after a moment of hesitation, Lance decided to lie. The reason wasn’t all that clear. Maybe a bit of pride with a touch of denial, a couple of traits he had harvested and mastered over the years. Or perhaps - and in Keith’s very own words - Lance was just a fucking idiot.

Then the night fell and Lance’s coffee went cold. It wasn’t long before some funky teenager, not much older than Lance’s sister, got to his table to politely ask for him to get the fuck out because it was closing time.

Lance nodded at them, trying to swallow down the sheer panic pooling in his gut. He pocketed his phone and flung the satchel over his shoulder, then shimmied into his coat and took the cup of undrunk coffee in one hand. He strode through the double glass door and kept walking, until the end of the sidewalk made him stop in his tracks.

It was a cold night. Warmer than the average January night but still very icy. A breeze got to him and it was the chilly sensation what made Lance to fully internalize the fact that he had absolutely nowhere to go. He stood there, a hand in his empty pocket and the other pretty much glued to his paper cup, looking straight ahead and wondering just how much amount of loserness had he scored on the loser-o-meter. By the looks of it, it was a new world record.

 _Could I sleep in the park?_ He thought, unable to keep his mind from spiraling. _Would I freeze to death? Does it matter?_

It did matter. In fact, it mattered so much, it was the very reason he was currently panicking. He didn’t want to end his days like a popsicle. What would his mama think?

 _Maybe if I pretend I’m very sick I could crash in an ER_ , he thought next, but immediately cringed. _Oh God, please don’t let me crash in an ER._

The hypothetical blow to his dignity was cut short by a very physical blow to his body when someone big and brick-built chose that exact moment to crash against his side.

The collision sent the contents of his paper cup straight to the only piece of clothing he owned at the moment, which only added to the growing pile of awful things happening to him all at once. However, the incident startled Lance enough to momentarily take him out from his mental pity parade.

“Hey, watch it!” Lance got to say, jerking back in a futile attempt to avoid the unavoidable.

It was a good thing Lance had ordered it hours ago because about a third of Lance’s white button-up shirt was now soaked in cheap latte - and getting a second-degree burn would’ve been just really awful writing. He swore.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, buddy,” said a deep voice, one Lance could have found attractive was it not attached to the same person making his life an inch more miserable. “Are you alright?”

“Peachy,” Lance said sarcastically. He looked down at himself and noticed the brown liquid dripping from his waterproof jacket. Unfortunately, his shirt wasn’t as lucky. “Nothing like a coffee shower to properly start a night.”

He heard a snicker coming from the other man and he felt his blood boil. Was this douchebag making fun of him? Was he _really_ ? Lance’s eyes shot up, determined to tell the guy off for laughing at his misfortune. Nevertheless, what Lance didn’t expect was for Mister Brick-Wall to be _so freaking gorgeous_.

The man wasn’t like any man Lance had known in his life. He was tall, handsome, and hot as the mid-day sun in the middle of summer. He had chiseled features, and even wrapped up in layers of winter clothes, he was obviously as solid as the wall Lance’s brain compared him with.

The man was wearing a beanie over what appeared to be an undercut, and a tuft of bleached white hair stuck out by his forehead. His eyes were soft, his lips full, and he had an odd horizontal scar over the bridge of his nose that made him look as if he was permanently blushing. On top of everything, the guy was at least half a head taller than Lance, which was... kinda messing with Lance’s size kink, to be honest.

After a beat or two, the stranger stopped the snickering and actively looked back at Lance, mild curiosity clear in his face. It was only then that Lance realized they were in the middle of the sidewalk, it was nighttime, and he was _staring_.

“You ruined my shirt, don’t laugh about it,” Lance said, mind down to Earth again.

He tore his gaze away from Captain Broad Shoulders and looked at his stained button up instead. Some of the previous frustration came back, as the thought of sleeping in soaked clothes occurred to him.

“I’m really sorry,” the man said, still a hint of laughter in his voice. “Can I make it up to you?”

“Not unless you have a fresh one in your pocket, hot stuff,” Lance said unthinkingly, flinching upon realizing the racy epithet he’d used. _God_ , he was pathetic.

“I certainly don’t,” the stranger said, his voice thoughtful. “But I can wash it for you if you have the time.”

Lance’s head shot up so fast he almost got whiplash. He stared at the man in disbelief, searching his face for signs of mockery. There were none.

“Are you a serial killer?” Lance asked after a moment, tilting his head and squinting. The man let out a laugh.

“Do I look like a serial killer?” He asked in return, opening his arms as if he was trying to show Lance his entire self.

“Serial killers aren’t _supposed_ to look like serial killers,” Lance said gingerly. “They look like regular fellows, that’s the whole point.”

“Then I look just the type, don’t I?” The man said, and this time he winked at Lance. Lance’s loins tightened. “To be honest, I just feel bad for ruining your clothes on the first day of the year.”

“All laundromats are closed today,” Lance stated, as a way to point out the hole in Commander Tall’s plan.

“There’s a washer/dryer back at where I’m staying,” the man said, shrugging. “It’s just around the corner and I can make us some coffee while we wait.”

Lance’s mouth hung agape and he blinked several times while trying to process the turn of events. His common sense was screaming at him to cut the crap and walk out of there fast - serial killer alert? Hello? - then again, he didn’t really have anywhere else to go. Besides, there was something about this guy, something soothing and utterly _familiar_ . Even if Lance was positive he had never seen him in his life - because he’d remember having met someone like _that_ \- there was this tiny little feeling in his gut telling him the man in front of him was as sincere as he appeared to be.

On the other hand, and as much as he enjoyed flirting with the metaphysical side of life on occasion, Lance wasn’t much of a believer. He believed in God, tough. To some degree.

Maybe it was only fair to remember he _had_ been asking The Big Guy upstairs for some kind of assistance. Perhaps White Tuft over there was simply the answer to Lance’s unvoiced prayer. Either that or Lance was about to know what was it like to be the star of the first five minutes of every slasher movie ever made.

“Do you have any food to go with that coffee?” Lance asked, against his better judgment. The stranger threw him a lopsided smile.

“I can give you something to nibble,” he said, looking straight at Lance’s eyes. He felt the top of his ears burn hot but ignored it. “If you’re into that.”

_Wow._

_Okay..._

Lance nodded once, to convince himself that he wasn’t walking into some sort of wolf’s den. He extended a hand toward the man, cracking his signature confident smile for the other man’s benefit.

“The name’s Lance, by the way,” he said. The man took his hand a second later, with a full grin and a firm grip.

“Pleasure, Lance,” he said, stepping a bit closer. “I’m Shiro.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was started completely on a whim. I have no plans for this story more than a few floating ideas, a possible ending, and a list of prompts to guide me through the month (assuming I make it on time). Also, this is kind of a gift for a friend for no particular reason. So yeah. Happy ride, y’all!
> 
>  **Edit 08/28/2018:** I do know where this is going now. I took the time to outline the whole plot when it was on hiatus so all it's left is for me to write it. Care to join me? ;)


	2. Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After bottoming out, all you can do is going up. And maybe take a shower first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2/Day 3: Black and Blue/Sea of Stars

When they got to Shiro’s place, Lance’s first thought was that it didn’t look like anyone’s home.

Not that it wasn’t pretty, and cozy, and every bit _nice_. But there was something odd about it, in the way that it lacked some sense of… something? He honestly didn’t know how to phrase it, so he stopped trying. Instead, he did his best not to duel on the fact that Shiro asked him to take his clothes off as soon as they got inside.

Funnily enough, it wasn’t on a sexy connotation.

As it turned out, his pants took as much of a toll as his white button-up, stained by the cold remnants of his latte of shame. Despite his friends' opinion of him, Lance wasn’t one to run around getting naked in front of handsome strangers. Not unless there had been tequila or vodka shots somewhere along the road, anyway. So when Shiro politely asked for his clothes, Lance’s knee-jerk reaction was to cover himself with both hands.

“You don’t have to do it in here,” Shiro said after a quick chuckle. “Bathroom’s that way, and there’s a clean robe too. You can also take a shower if you feel like it.”

“It’s then when you’ll slash my throat?” Lance asked, half teasingly.

Shiro chuckled again. “It’d be too obvious, wouldn’t it?” He replied. “Where’s the fun in it if you already know it’s coming?” Lance couldn’t help smiling. The guy was hot and funny, a dangerous combination.

Lance dedicated one last glance in Shiro’s direction before walking to the bathroom. It was a nice one, very clean and organized, with a comfy shower/bathtub situation that gave Lance’s overly active imagination several steamy ideas. He chastised himself, though. He might be horny on main most of the time - and Shiro might be dreamy - but he wasn’t about to whore himself to get a place to stay. He still had self-respect, thank you very much.

He took off his clothes, cringing at the sticky sensation on his skin. Even his underwear was coffee-stained, for crying out loud! He removed the last piece of his dignity and stared at his reflection in the mirror, sighing in defeat. He really bottomed out, did he?

Lance sighed again. He put the stained clothes on the toilet seat and got to the shower. The water was warm and perfect, and Lance let himself be drenched by it from head to toe. It was soothing, a light beacon in the darkness that was his life at the moment, so he stayed under the spray for as long as he could stand it, feeling his muscles loosen up and his thoughts drift away.

A knock on the door took him out of his slumber. He straightened his back, scrubbing his face and mentally kicking himself for almost falling asleep inside some stranger’s shower. He then proceeded to thank any gods listening to him for the not see-through curtains.

“May I come in?” Shiro said from the other side. Lance’s stomach tightened in a funny way but Lance ignored it. It wasn’t the time, really.

“Sure, come on in,” Lance called back. He heard the door opening and saw Shiro’s blurry form through the curtain.

“I thought I could put your clothes in the washer while you finish your shower,” Shiro explained, and wasn’t he the most considered potential serial killer Lance had ever met. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Lance said, feeling weirder by the second. This whole situation was borderline absurd. “Thanks, Shiro.”

“No problem,” said Shiro in return. “See you in a bit.” Lance heard him get out and close the door behind him.

He finished his shower a few minutes later, taking Shiro’s black robe from the hanger behind the door. It was a few sizes too big for him, but at least it covered his lack of underwear. He saw himself in the mirror again and combed his hair the best he could with just his fingers. He didn’t fail to notice he actually looked better. A bit of tiredness under his eyes, but still way better than before. It made him wonder how come Shiro flirted with him despite him looking like crap. Maybe the man had low standards.

Lance padded his way back to the main room, a lounge/living room separated from the kitchen area by a black marble countertop. The smell of freshly made coffee filled his lungs, and he sighed involuntarily; the scent of something grilled and wonderful also floated in the air. Shiro smiled at him from the other side.

“I promised you something to nibble,” he said, earning a snicker from Lance as he sat on a stool. Shiro set a plate with yummy looking grilled cheese in front of him, then a big cup of coffee. Lance could have hugged him.

He started eating with such excitement he almost spilled the coffee all over his precious grilled cheese. Making a fool of himself definitely wasn’t on his plans for the night, but he couldn’t help it. He. Was. _Starving._

“You’re not gonna eat?” Lance asked after he’d shoved down half his meal. It was then, without an empty stomach, that he realized Shiro didn’t have a plate of his own. “I can share,” he offered.

“I had dinner before we… _met_ ,” Shiro said apologetically. “That’s all for you. You like it?”

“I love it!” Lance said, maybe a tad too enthusiastic, then tried to conceal it by taking a sip of his coffee. “I hadn’t realized I was this hungry,” he confessed after putting the cup back on the counter.

“But it’s kinda late,” Shiro said, a slight concern in his eyes.  “Were you meeting someone for dinner? Did I keep you from it?”

Lance smiled lightly, nibbling at the rest of the grilled cheese. Shiro looked adorable like that, it was unsettling.

“No, it wasn’t that,” he clarified. “It’s just…”

Then he stopped, insecure of how to proceed. Namely, Shiro wasn’t his friend. They met less than two hours before and only because he offered to wash Lance’s stained clothes - and Lance was idiotic enough to say yes. Was he really going to talk to this gorgeous guy about the shittiest day from his shitty life? Then again, he was mentally exhausted, and his brain was probably unfit to take proper decisions.

“Today hasn’t been the best day,” he said in the end, taking the last bite of his dinner.

“How so?” Asked Shiro, because _of_ _course_ he would. Lance should have stayed quiet but there was nothing he could do now.

“Just your regular booting ‘cause the rent’s past due. Nothing much,” he explained with a shrug, drinking the rest of his coffee. “Let’s just say our little incident was actually the least awful occurrence of my New Year’s day.”

Shiro’s brows rose up, one of them almost covered by the guy’s bleached hair-chunk. “Ouch,” he said, empathizing.

“Yeah,” Lance said in return, looking at his hands.

It wasn’t easy to talk about his situation with someone outside his besties’ group but there was something about this guy he couldn’t quite comprehend. It was as if Lance had known him his whole life, which obviously wasn’t the case. Maybe he just needed someone to talk to.

“For what it’s worth, I’m happy to have tripped over you,” Shiro said after a tick, taking Lance off guard. He looked up and found the man looking back at him, a softness in his eyes that made Lance’s insides melt and his heart beat faster by the second.

“Me too,” said Lance, unable to stop staring at those sharp, honest, beautiful gray eyes.

Then the washer beeped loudly, and they both jumped on their seats.

Lance turned his gaze away, focusing on how interesting the bread crumbles looked like. He heard Shiro clear his throat before going to check the machine. This was simply ridiculous, the both of them acting all puppy-eyed on each other like they weren’t proper adults that could be screwing over the countertop if they’d wanted to.

Lance could do many things just fine, risque flirting being one of them. But beaming at someone - and been beamed at in return - was actually out of his comfort zone. He hadn’t done it in ages and the last time he tried, he was thoroughly rejected by a beautiful girl way out of his league. So thanks, but no thanks.

Lance sighed and shook his head, too tired to overthink stuff. The empty plate and cup caught his attention, and he stood up, taking both items to the sink along with the griddle pan, Shiro’s empty mug and every other utensil in need of a wash.

“I could have done that,” Shiro said a minute later, upon coming back from the laundry room.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” Lance said sincerely. “Besides, you’re already doing my laundry.”

“Only because I was the one to get you dirty,” Shiro pointed out.

“I’ve been dirtier, believe me,” Lance retorted, washing the last item of the lot. However, once the sentence left his mouth he saw an opportunity to stop being lame. His lips curved into a smirk. “You could get me dirty any day you want, though.” Then he winked for good measure.

Shiro’s mouth hung agape and his eyes went wide. It took him a hot second to stop staring at Lance, and when he did, he whistled in appreciation.

“You sure get right to the point, do you?” He said, looking amused.

Lance shrugged nonchalantly, wiping his hands with Shiro’s robe. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

“Then I’ll have to up my game,” said Shiro, reaching into his trousers pocket to take out a blue device Lance knew far too well.  His stomach did an uncomfortable flip.

“Where did you get that?” He asked carefully, doing his best to conceal his apprehension. _Please, God, don’t let him be a creep._

“It was in your trousers’ pocket but I let it in the laundry room before and forgot,” Shiro explained, apparently unaware of Lance’s inner predicament.  “Could you unlock it for me, please?” He asked, handing Lance’s phone to him over the countertop.

Lance grabbed the phone and unconsciously clenched it to his chest. “What for?”

“Trust me, okay?” Shiro said softly. “Please.”

And maybe Lance wasn’t the best and brightest of his generation. Perhaps he was being foolish, and reckless, and quite possibly naive. But he didn’t care. For some unknown reason, he felt in his gut he could trust this guy. Shiro was _safe_ , and asking Lance to unlock his phone instead of trying something funny by his own was more than enough proof.

Either that or Lance was about to turn into a male Sidney Prescott.

He unlocked the phone and handed it back to Shiro, who quickly typed something Lance couldn’t make up from that distance.

“There,” Shiro said about half a minute later, giving Blue back to him. “Now you have my number. You can call me or text me whenever you want. Or not. It’s up to you.”

Well, this was unexpected.

Shiro was playing a game Lance wasn’t familiar with. Namely, he’d had his fair share of relationship attempts throughout his twenty-five years of existence. Some more futile than others, but all of them sharing a common thread: Lance was _never_ the one in control.

One way or another he always ended up being the jealous one, the clingy one, the inexperienced one. The last time he tried, the guy literally robbed him, for Christ’s sake! So Shiro waltzing into his life to give Lance the whole power? Saying he liked this guy a lot was a huge understatement.

“Okay, maybe I will,” Lance teased, locking his phone again.

“Looking forward to it,” Shiro said with a smile.

The washer went off again, breaking yet another bonding moment. It was as if fate didn’t want them to flirt beyond the strictly necessary, for whatever cosmic reason. Was a higher being so opposed to Lance getting laid? He didn’t think so. Maybe it was just bad timing or a divine signal for him to keep it in his pants.

“Too late for the pants part,” he mumbled, letting himself appreciate Shiro’s behind as the man walked to the laundry room. Lance walked to the other side of the countertop, then he let himself appreciate Shiro’s front when he came back. He was holding Lance’s clothes.

“Good as new,” the man said, handling Lance his neatly folded shirt, trousers, and boxer briefs.

“Thanks,” said Lance, and he meant it. “Guess I should get going, huh?”

“You have somewhere to stay the night?”

The question wasn’t all that unexpected, to be honest. Judging by their recent interactions, Shiro didn’t strike him as the kind of man who wouldn’t realize Lance was homeless for the night. It was a pleasant confirmation, though. More so after Lance practically implied he’d let the man “get him dirty” given the opportunity.

“I…” Lance hesitated. He didn’t want to look even more pathetic to Shiro’s eyes, but he actually was too tired to care that much about it. Let future Lance worry about losing face in front of Captain Charming. “Not really, no,” he confessed. “But it’s okay! I’ll find something.”

“Or you could stay with me,” Shiro suggested, taking Lance by surprise. He waited for Shiro to elaborate. “I- I mean, not _with me_ , with me,” the man clarified, scratching the back of his head. He looked so out of his element it was almost funny. “Just here, in the house,” he repeated, firmly this time. “With me.”

_Oh._

Lance stared at Shiro in disbelief, weighing every single word he’d said. Not only was the man offering him a place to stay the night, he was doing it without an agenda. After Lance’s mildly inappropriate flirting, Shiro could have suggested any sort of “retribution” to let him stay - and he wouldn't be the first to do that to Lance, in all honesty. Instead, there he was, a stuttering mess offering his house by the goodness of his heart. This almost stranger was doing for Lance what no other person did: helping him out when he was at his lowest point. He could have kissed him.

“Okay,” Lance said after a moment, doing his best not to start ugly sobbing in front of his hero. “I’ll stay here with you.”

Shiro beamed at him.

“Awesome!” He said, and he looked quite excited about it. Maybe he really liked to help others, huh? “I’ll set the couch in no time. Or do you rather sleeping in the bedroom? I could sleep on the couch if you want the bed.”

“The couch is fine,” Lance assured him, still a bit overwhelmed.

“Great! Lemme just… I’ll be right back.”

Lance took the opportunity to put on his underwear, wondering if he should put on his shirt to sleep in it. His unvoiced question was answered upon Shiro’s return when Shiro lent him a well-loved gray cotton t-shirt at least two sizes too big for Lance. He went to the bathroom and put on the tee anyway, returning in time to see Shiro set up the couch for him to sleep comfortably.

“There you go,” Shiro said once he’d finished. The man stood in front of the couch to contemplate his work. “It’s getting late, so I’m gonna let you sleep now. If you need anything else just tell me, okay?”

“Yeah,” Lance said, sitting on the couch to test Shiro’s work. It was actually very comfy. “Thank you,” he let out, looking up at Shiro. “For everything.”

“Anytime,” said Shiro in return. Then he gave Lance a warm, sincere smile that could possibly melt ice caps. “Goodnight, Lance”.

“Nite.”

And he was gone.

Lance did his best to fall asleep, but he just couldn't. He tried deep breaths and counting sheep, he even made a list of every Spanish word he knew that started with the letter “S”. But none of it worked. After all that had happened he should be beat; instead, he was lying on his side, eyes wide open, and mind reeling with things he wanted to say and do to Shiro on that very moment. And yes, he’d sworn he wouldn’t give himself away for a place to stay, but now was different. Shiro hadn’t asked anything of him. Anything at all. Which was probably the reason Lance wanted to give him everything.

Nonetheless, he didn’t want Shiro to think less of him. In regular circumstances, Lance wouldn’t give a single flying fuck about what some man could think of him and his choices. Shiro, though. Shiro wasn’t a simple man he’d met on the street. Not anymore.

So Lance stayed there under the blanket, staring at some random poster on the wall representing a vast starry sky and wondering whether giving up to his impulses was worth the try or not. He wanted to go to Shiro’s bedroom, find out if he was asleep, and if he wasn’t, maybe improvise from there. At the same time, he didn’t want to “ruin the magic” - or whatever that _thing_ between them was supposed to be.

Stupid connections.

Stupid feelings.

Stupid _magic_.

“You know what? Fuck it!” He said, at last, pulling the blanket off him. Then he mustered his courage and made a beeline to Shiro’s room, not bothering to knock first.

The room was dark, lit only by moonlight seeping in through the window. Shiro’s form was recognizable under the covers, probably fast asleep before Lance’s intrusion. The man stirred awake a beat later; the door’s hinges weren’t too quiet after all.

“Lance?” Shiro asked, leaning on his elbows to have a better visual. His hair was ruffled in an adorable way. Lance smiled to himself. “Everything okay?”

“Peachy,” Lance said, an echo of their first meeting as he made his way to Shiro’s bed. “Just couldn’t sleep.” He climbed on the bed, aware of Shiro’s gaze on him. “Think you can help me?” He asked with feigned innocence, pulling off the covers and getting inside, just above Shiro’s mesmerized self.

“I- I don’t-”

Lance snickered at Shiro’s lack of eloquence. He straddled the man’s thighs in a swift movement, earning himself a breathed “wow” from his counterpart. He snickered again; to say he wasn’t proud of himself for it would have been lying.

“Put me to bed, Shiro,” Lance said, leaning forward so his face was a breath away from Shiro’s. “Please.”

Shiro stared at him for a heartbeat before finding his voice again. “You sure get right to the point, do you?” He said, voice rough and barely above a whisper.

Then Shiro took Lance’s lips on his, and the world started spinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm finally back to this story, and I intend to finish it this time. RL has been a mess this whole year, but dust is finally starting to settle, and I'm (slowly) making progress in all my wips. Wish me luck!!
> 
> If you're here and you liked this, please leave me a comment. They fuel my engines, so if you have opinions, theories or thoughts, do tell!!
> 
> PS: I swear Shiro is not a serial killer. Did y’all read the summary? There's everything you need to know :3

**Author's Note:**

> I’m **@theonemaye** on twitter and tumblr. Go talk to me about this ship, this fic, this show or whatever you wanna talk about!
> 
> Like what you see? How about a [coffee](http://ko-fi.com/theonemaye) ;)
> 
> \--  
>  **Update Nov. 2018:** Please read the series description.


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